


Amber

by PetrichorPerfume



Series: Amens in Amber [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adam Milligan Lives, Adam Milligan is Not Forgotten, Adam Milligan is Saved, End of the World, Episode Fix-It: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Michael Possessing Adam Milligan, POV Adam Milligan, Post-Canon, Spoilers for Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28077690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetrichorPerfume/pseuds/PetrichorPerfume
Summary: The end of the world from Adam Milligan's POV.
Relationships: Michael & Adam Milligan, Michael/Adam Milligan
Series: Amens in Amber [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1527551
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	Amber

**Author's Note:**

> The poem in italics is "Amber," written by Leonardas Andriekus and translated from Lithuanian by Demie Jonaitis. 
> 
> The idea for this story came to me when I was contemplating alternative endings where Adam lives and is given another chance at personal agency and free will.

_I cannot weep_

_I cannot wail,_

_My spirit is empty like a dried-up inlet._

The end of the world came and went. Adam Milligan, truth be told, didn’t notice at first.

The quiet didn’t seem eerie to him, not after so many centuries of icy silence and glacial progress between him and Michael. He had spent eons in that Cage, deep under the bowels of the earth, the only sounds the occasional rumble of distant thunder from far above. For decades at a time, silence reigned.

It was a testament to something – Adam was sure it wasn’t to anything good – that Michael did not inform him that he was one of the last few people on Earth until the day was nearly done.

The apparition of Michael appeared on his side of his bed after a long absence, frowning. “It’s come,” Michael stated, plain as day, stark as night.

“What has?”

Their eyes met. “Revelation.”

Adam gave a mighty sigh. “As in, the Book of-”

“Yes,” Michael confirmed. “It’s the end of the line.”

Michael gave him a sidelong look, as if he wasn’t sure he could ask of Adam what he was about to demand.

“I know that look,” Adam accused. “I’m not going to like what comes next, am I?”

“No,” Michael said, and that was the last time Adam Milligan heard much of anything.

He had just time enough to feel an icy wave of dread crash up against his spine; just enough time to feel infinitely betrayed as Michael took over their shared body so completely that Adam was submerged; untethered in space and in time.

_Weep for me,_

_Wail for me,_

_Little Baltic amber_

_Cast out by the sea in darkness._

  
He awoke to blinding sunlight. There was a deep and abiding absence where Michael’s presence had been, and Adam knew at once that the worse had happened.

He blinked up at the light, hoping to be blinded, wishing for the sun to fill up the empty pieces of him that were shaped like Michael; the hollows on the border of his soul, where once they had fit together like two halves of a shattered whole.

His eyes filled with tears and shut of their own accord. He knew with an all-encompassing certainty that he would never see Michael again; that the last of the archangels had been slain and he had somehow been sent away, unscathed; in some final act of mercy.

_Now only God –_

_With wind, wave, fisherman asleep –_

_Can hear you._

_The sea does not love you_

_The earth does not love me._

Adam Milligan rose from the barren ground, and made his way to the edge of the field, alone; feeling like an insect trapped in amber for many an age, only to find himself freed, now, into the savage light of a new world.

He placed his hand atop his heart, letting the life-affirming beat flutter beneath his fingers.

Time and tide had churned him into something strong and shining, those hard edges of his youth smoothed by the passing of the eons. The salt and brine of his tears – the taste of his loss – was tempered by the sweetness of freedom.

_Mourn, mourn, little amber,_

_For the fate that is ours._

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos and/or a comment if you enjoyed this fic!


End file.
